


glimpse of time

by Sinsrose



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7587214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinsrose/pseuds/Sinsrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jade eyes are caught, the way he’s keeled between the women’s legs. almost in a delicate ease, fingers pressed into her hip. dean can see the slight raised skin, the areas were he’s kissed and bitten, the way that blood comes to the surface and rushes, he can see the way that the dame’s fingers tangle into what hair buck has to tug his head more forward as he noses at her cunt. lapping like it’s some sort of candy. it’s obscene, between the heat lingering from outside and the small soft noises that the dame makes. it makes the blood loud and hot and dean’s ears.</p><p>    ficlet written within the echoes of time verse, a stand alone drabble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	glimpse of time

It’s the subtle slow burn of intoxication of the limbs and mind. the slow pitter patter of the heart, the way that it echoes and slathers in a room that is dead quiet. it’s mid-summer, and it heat, god you used to bitch about it back at home. but it sucks here. it more than _sucks_. there’s no relief, nothing you can really do for it.  
  
     at least not in the circumstances that you have here. it’s just that muggy heat that leaves your lungs gasping and your tongue dry at the back of your mouth. your hands wipe the sweat from the skin of your brow. it’s been a long day, a modest living in these parts. manual labor, it’s the only thing you can do to past time while you’re stuck in a zone that isn’t your own. you don’t really belong here, a rich man among the poor. but you dress more like the common than the rich, you rather not think of yourself as rich, you’re broke back home.  
  
which maybe leads you to this standstill of a window. that broken paradise you’ve created while you prepare to die on the inside. you know those hounds are waiting when you get back home, so you make the most of lie in another time. it leaves you peering inwards to an apartment room, the touches of dawn long gone, the skies have long faded into a twilight that stretches for what seems like forever. your fingers curled around the door, the wood rough against your palm, emerald eyes peering into the room illuminated by the faint glow of lamps. 

  
    you don’t really belong here. it’s not your place to be watching how the kid plays his cards. what he draws, what he’s drawn to. you just pay him most of the time for a good _fuck,_ or a nice _dick suck._ not that he ever objected, only looked at you concerned with the amount of money you gave him. giving someone two-hundred here means more than it does back home. it pays for more, it’s the reason dean isn’t out on the streets, rent’s only forty a month and that’s _cheap._    
  
   he’s caught peering inside the room. he can hear the cut off of breath, the soft escapes of noises, the familiar drawn noises. and it’s a slight surprise that lands on his features, he’d known the other was a flirt, that he dances and hung round dames like it was nothing but seeing this was unexpected. not to mention the fact that buck had left the door ajar was saying that he knew that dean was going to come around looking for his dick to be sucked.  
  
     jade eyes are caught, the way he’s keeled between the women’s legs. almost in a delicate ease, fingers pressed into her hip. dean can see the slight raised skin, the areas were he’s kissed and bitten, the way that blood comes to the surface and rushes, he can see the way that the dame’s fingers tangle into what hair buck has to tug his head more forward as he noses at her cunt. lapping like it’s some sort of candy. it’s obscene, between the heat lingering from outside and the small soft noises that the dame makes. it makes the blood loud and hot and dean’s ears.  
  
   he can see how he moves with her. it’s less common back then, least in this time for women to just sleep right off the bat with a man. it seems like buck has a nack for getting them on their knees for him, letting his tongue just touch inside her cunt. letting himself just sink down and inhale and lap and just torture someone so sweet like that, letting them be wrung out till they’re choking on small noises.  
  
     he’s a devil and he knows it. It’s also not uncommon for Dean to show up around here as if he was Bucky’s roomate so he can stall. He can retreat into the washroom, but Barnes knows what he did, he knows what he did. And Dean’s skin is burning alive past the sweat, past everything. It’s down to his bones, the heat and the aches, and the kid slides up next to him. Fingers sliding into his shoulders, the searing press of lips on his neck.    
  
          “Easy kid. Or are you just trying to whore yourself out tonight?  You pay that pretty dame to get me riled? Or did you just do that because you like getting fucked?””  
  
Either way the answer gets him a drag of nails across skin, and eyes looking right back at him. Lips curved into a smirk that only barnes pulls when he knows he’s been caught doing something wicked. his blood runs hot when his fingers press the other against the wall, fingers catching on the exposed skin. and some part of him is going to hell for _this_ , because he knows some part of him cares. that part of him is going to die long before he even goes to hell, because of this _kid_.  
  
 it’s an attachment that he shouldn’t have considering he’s paying the other for sex. but right now here in this moment, with his fingers pressing into the other, he could care less. he’s more of the way that his blood is thrumming, and the way that he can hear his heartbeat when he catches the other’s lower lip when he _kisses_  him. teeth and tongue and something wicked with the way that their bodies play one another. it’s as if fate had chosen to do this, for what reason, who knows. but it’s like a steady weight of dotags and a necklace from his brother around his neck. it’s a weight of crashing worlds, that he doesn’t belong here but he doesn’t give a _damn_.  
  
so he kisses and consumes. he lets the fire burn down the trail of his spine, lets it leave a wake, lets the flames burn. he lets it consume, lets it spark. and it does, it consumes the mind and heart with a thunderous movement. the heavy thump that echoes in the veins. the heavy weigh and the way that blood trickles through veins, the way teeth catch and pull across lips. leaving them swollen and bitten red only to make the other produce sharp vocal sounds from their tongue.    
  
     they kiss and consume. heat of the flames buried somewhere in the depths of their souls. a world outside long forgotten as dean cries out a name of a man that shouldn’t even know he’s alive. but dean’s already doomed, already damned in more than one sense, and letting this kid fuck him is the least of his worries. knowing that he cares for the kid is something that he scratches out in his mind and refuses to admit, even when the kid later that night hands him off one of the dogtags. and refuses his money but dean laughs and says.   
  
               “ don’t you need to feed that punk that lives with you?”    
  
and bucky gives him this untraceable look while nestled in the sheets beside him. gross and smelling like sex right beside him. really looks at dean, like he doesn’t understand him sometimes, why dean would even bother giving him the money in the first place when it wasn’t even really mentioned tonight. it was just given because dean cares. he cares, not to mention he’s figured a few things out. besides lying in the sheets besides the kid is the only thing he can really do than want to face the reality of a letter that had been on bucky’s table. he leans over and kisses the kid as if to reassure himself.       
  
                   “just don’t get yourself killed. come home in one piece.”  
  
  he’s so full of shit asking something like this. giving his heart to this kid, someone he barely even knows but here it is. he’s got one of bucky’s dogtags around his neck as if he’s some dame. and asking things that he shouldn’t be asking because once he finds that god, this ends. bucky won’t be alive in his timeline. not that he’s aware of. he presses his head into the crook of the kids shoulder and exhales, breathing out. curled against him.  
  
                “you mind if i stay?”  
  
it’s a question that never have been asked. he’s in too deep, falling asleep to this kids heartbeat.


End file.
